


Cauldron's Workplace Harassment Seminar

by TopHat



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, No Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2019-11-28 19:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18212435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHat/pseuds/TopHat
Summary: Enough is enough. Doctor Mother calls together most of Cauldron to discuss the elephant in the room: Kurt's dick.





	1. Chapter 1

Doctor Mother considered herself a patient individual. A measured one. Someone who could observe the very worst the world had to offer and keep her cool. She’d seen people explode into blood and gore in front of her, watched as experiments gone horribly wrong wrecked people’s lives, and personally given orders which would’ve made any dictator proud. She did not like her job, but it was necessary, and she was damn good at it. There were people who had greater mental fortitude than she did, but not many, and none who knew the whole truth about how the world worked.

On the other hand, the ability to keep a straight face when threatened by multiple parahumans did not translate to a complete lack of affect.

“I have brought you all here today because of the workplace environment you’ve created,” she started, pacing in front of the projector. “While I understand that our mission is taxing, and that whatever relief you can find is invaluable, I do think we can generally agree that certain professional standards are not unreasonable.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” the Number Man said, folding his hands politely with such a firmly neutral expression that his bare, hairy legs protruding from underneath the table almost went unnoticed.

“The Path says that things are going according to plan,” Contessa added. Both her hands were underneath the table, and Doctor Mother could make out the faint _click click clicking_ of rapid-fire texts.

Legend looked between the two Thinkers, then to Doctor Mother. “While I understand the logic between bringing these two here, why am I—”

“Because I need someone sane in the room,” she interrupted, stopping in place. “David decided that anything which didn’t involve direct hero-ing was a waste of time and I haven’t been able to reach Rebecca at all. Now, this” — she clicked her remote, switching the slide — “is the picture from last year’s Christmas party. Kurt, can you tell me what is wrong with this picture?”

“I had to wear a codpiece?” he tried.

“That you decided to paint your legs instead of wearing pants,” she corrected, narrowing her eyes. “Now, individually I would chalk the action up to a singular lapse in judgement. Then you decided to be a cow.”

The Number Man crossed his arms. “And what’s wrong with that costume?”

Doctor Mother slammed her hands onto the desk in front of her. “The problem is that your dick is too big!”

“I don’t see how that’s his problem,” Contessa said.

Legend had buried his face in his hands, while the Number Man had taken out his phone and begun scrolling through Imgur.

“It’s all of our problem,” Doctor Mother growled, stomping forward to loom over Kurt. “Do you have any idea how many man-hours are lost every year because people are too busy looking at his penis instead of doing their work? The math says that we’ve delayed formula breakthroughs by weeks because he can’t stand the feel of cloth on his boys. There’s a chatroom where people do nothing but make puns about his johnson.” She shot glares at Legend and Contessa. “Two of whom go by such imaginative nicknames as RainbowLaserSchlong and HatMommy.”

Contessa stared back, unperturbed. “I will path to finding such individuals and inform them of the proper way to spend their time.”

Doctor Mother opened her mouth to reply, then jumped at a loud _thump_ of flesh on wood in front of her.

The Number Man held out his phone towards her. “The Slaughterhouse Nine have just engaged the Boston underworld.”

Doctor Mother looked down at the screen. Someone had written ‘U WANT SUM FUK PIP?’ on the side of the Boston Globe’s building in blood-red paint (or paint-bright blood). They had also written it on the side of the building next to it, on every car window on the street, and had spelled out the words in the dismembered corpses of civilians.

“In the interest of ensuring the minimum number of capes die, I would like to request permission to take field,” Kurt said.

The _clicking_ of Contessa’s phone stopped, and she placed the device face-down on the table, lips set and cheeks flushed. “I too request permission to take the field. A critical target has come up and requires immediate attention.”

Doctor Mother looked at both of the capes in front of her, then shook her head and waved at them. “Get out of my sight.”

“Door,” Contessa said, falling backwards into the portal in a display of shaky-kneed agility and sodden tights while the fully-at-attention Number Man simply stood up and sprinted for the exit, knocking over his desk and leaving Legend awestruck. Doctor Mother watched them go, then turned over the phone Contessa left behind.

“Oh my,” she muttered, promptly flipping it back and turning away, flushed. The half-age plus seven rule was ironclad, and being as old as she was Doctor Mother politely suppressed the multitude of thoughts she had about the young men and women in spandex who frequented her services. That didn’t mean those thoughts didn’t exist, nor did it mean that seeing Rebecca Costa-Brown smirking down the camera’s up-skirt pantyless shot did something other than reignite the fire in her loins.

The _Get over here, my favorite bottom bitch_ certainly didn’t make the impulse to obey easier to resist.

“I know, right?” Legend muttered, rubbing his temples. “You could break a mailbox with that thing. I forget because he covers it up with tables most of the time but goddamn if not for Arthur I’d manhandle that ham candle every goddamn night.”

“Hell, I’m in hell,” Doctor Mother muttered.

The Custodian, who had observed most all of what happened within the compound, silently disagreed.


	2. The Second One

Jeanne took a deep breath, held it, then turned around. “I have called you here today for a talk.”

“About what?” Mr. Six-Nipples asked, scratching his bare chest idly. The man had both a cape name and a proper name, but to Jeanne he would always be Mr. Six-Nipples, as the unfortunate deviations that developed when he drank the vial were unusually attractive. Aside from his ability in the field, the way he filled out after-action reports on time _and_ in cursive, and the lovely sensation of lying down her steadily-growing collection of his beard trimmings, Mr. Six-Nipples radiated a raw, animal magnetism she’d previously only encountered twice in her life.

_“Let me just say, from the bottom of my heart, my bad.”_

“Please tell me it’s about the near-constant sexual harassment,” Venarum said, pulling off his mask and revealing a very flushed, more-than-a-little pimpled face. He also had a real name, but he’d yet to do anything to differentiate himself from the other hundred interns running around the place besides have powers and so Jeanne would refer to him by his most distinctive feature. “I have been literally unable to not notice how many people are walking around either past half-mast or freshly fucked. It needs to stop yesterday.”

Bloody Mary snapped her gum obnoxiously loudly, feet kicked up on the table and wearing an expression of abject boredom. Since the woman never took off her single-horned mask (even in the shower) Jeanne didn’t pretend like there was anything more to the cape than her work. “I don’t know, that sounds like more of a you-problem, veiny boy. Maybe if you got laid you’d be less of a bitch about it.” The hussie leered at Mr. Six-Nipple’s chest. “Personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong at all with the way things are.”

“The talk is about workplace. Conduct,” Jeanne said loudly, pointedly ignoring the bickering. It was a well-known fact that acknowledging employee complaints made them real, and that the implied corollary meant that the best problem-solving path was to simply leave issues unaddressed for as long as possible in hopes that they’d sort themselves out. “It’s come to my attention that there are people in this organization who do not quite respect boundaries.”

Piggy (who, like Mr. Six-Nipples, had a real name and a cape name, but as Jeanne didn’t give a fuck about generic brutes would be forever known as Piggy) turned around and glared at Bloody Mary. “I swear to god Jessica, for the last time, I didn’t eat your fucking mac’n’cheese in the fridge.”

Just as Bloody Mary (who was very unprofessionally responding to her real name while in costume) opened her mouth to respond, Piggy held up a finger. “I’d say this is fat shaming, but I’m comfortable with my weight. I respect other people’s decision and body types, and instead choose to focus on how I myself can be I’m healthy enough to do the things I want and eat the things I like.”

He clenched his fist, muscles bulging on his arm as the brute power kicked in. “And I don’t fucking like your goddamn mac’n’cheese!”

Bloody Mary pulled her legs back, then kip-upped onto the table, teeth bared. “And how would you know without trying it, fat-ass? Checkmate, let’s throw down motherfucker!”

Jeanne sighed. “I will fire the next person who moves more than two total inches in the space of one full second, including their respiration.”

For the next minute, simply Jeannene took some time to herself, enjoying the slightly-more-oxygenated air.

“Now that you’ve all had a moment to calm down, back to the subject of this meeting,” Jeannene said, picking up one of the stapleless-stapled packets and flipping over the cover page to the second of four. “As of this moment, our current workplace dress code does not match the actual activity of my employees. Business casual is defined as ‘clothing which would not motivate a significant drop in stock value if observed during an unplanned inspection,’ a standard which I think we can generally agree is not met in this place of business.”

Barfbat began to open his mouth, but a quick eye twitch from Chugalug kept him frozen.

Jeanne nodded at the silent assent, turning to the next page of thirty-two point font. “In order to rectify the gap between policy and behavior, we can do one of two things. We can either change behavior to match policy, or we can change policy to match behavior.”

She spread her arms. “I open the table to discussion.”

Each cape the table collectively blew out the load of carbon dioxide they’d been holding in, thanking each of their respective deities that they were finally permitted to draw air. Bloody Mary dropped down to kneeling on the table, her chest heaving, while Mr. Six-Nipple’s one-pack did exceptionally interesting things with every inhalation.

“Can we discuss how you’re a fucking tyrant?” someone in the back asked. He was in a plain grey suit, face red from holding his breath, the plastic, waterproof, completely unfashionable Cassio watch that probably marked him as a terrorist. “Can we talk about how you’ll fucking fire literally anyone over fucking anything, and how we’ve lost at least six good capes for thirsting after Jeremey during their off-hours?”

“Clean out your office,” Jeanne said, jerking her chin at Mr. Six-Nipples, who was pointedly not looking at either the man or her. “You, escort this potential security threat to the front door once he’s finished gathering his personal effects, and put his portrait on the wall of shame for the nest Struggle Session. He’s ruined my groove.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mr. Six-Nipples said, standing up and moving to the now-shellshocked peon and patting him sympathetically on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, sir, but you’ve ruined madame Wynn’s groove.”

As the peon protested his removal from the room, Jeanne flipped to the final page of the packet before the blank bibliography. “After carefully considering employee input, I have decided to make no changes to the plan I formed when first coming across this discrepancy. From here on out, acceptable workplace garments are limited to clothing which covers only the top or bottom of your body. Undergarments are frowned upon but permitted, and in fact required for the employees on the list located on page three of your packets.”

After a brief shuffling, Barfbat looked up. “Uh, the only people who aren’t on this list are Jeremy, you, and the Number Boys.”

Jeanne nodded, standing up and luxuriating in the brief flash of pleasure which came at the mixture of attention and exhibitionist tendencies. “I am not required to wear undergarments, but as a display of solidarity I have decided to don tights in the workplace. It is important for corporate to remain in touch with the workforce, and though my legs may become chilly I think that a universal standard is the only reasonable standard to hold.”

The phone in her breast pocket buzzed, and after saving the nude of Contessa to her hyper-secure whyCloud folder she looked each person at the table in the eye. “This policy changes encompasses the totality of the purpose of this meeting. Should you take issue with these changes, I urge all of you to take any complaints you have to my office at the appropriate time of between four forty-five and five o’clock, with all nine forms properly filled out and sent through the appropriate channels. You are all dismissed.”

Jeanne left the room and the burgeoning human resource disasters behind her, already imagining how the night would go, blissfully ignorant of both the imminent collapse of her company, the machinations of the Number Boys which brought these events to pass, and how Contessa was already hypnotizing herself into unconsciously superimposing a hybrid image of Kurt and Rebecca over the next woman she saw for the duration of a date without tipping her friend-with-benefits off to the delusion.

A few dimensions away, Teacher woke up from his post-wank session nap and said, “I feel like now’s a good time to become relevant to the story. Time to exploit Contessa’s well-known weakness to salt water.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Pericardium and Maroon Sweater for beta-reading! Now if you'll excuse me, I need to shower. Vigorously.


End file.
